BRUNSWICK, Maine — Darting across the sky at more than 700 mph while cradled in an ejection-seat-equipped Navy Blue Angel fighter was a once-in-a-lifetime thrill.

Too bad I missed parts of it.

It wasn't being shot nearly straight up into the air, performing topsy-turvy maneuvers or flying upside down that did me in. It was when the Marine Corps pilot tested my mettle by subjecting me to G-forces experienced regularly by the Blue Angels.

Possessing "the right stuff," Maj. Nathan Miller spoke in a normal voice to me in the backseat as the G-forces in the F/A-18 Hornet reached more than seven times the normal pull of gravity. Lacking the righteous stuff, I strained, grunted and flexed my legs and abdominal muscles, as I'd been instructed, to keep my blood from draining from my head.

It was futile.

I blacked out.

Maneuvers like the ones I was lucky enough to experience — not to mention those I missed — make one appreciate the skills of the pilots at the controls when the Blue Angels perform at air shows, as they did recently before more than 170,000 people at the Brunswick Naval Air Station.

The difference between the performances and my flight, a few days before the show, is there are six jets flying, not one.

And they fly in formation only 18 inches apart, from wingtip to canopy, as they roll and loop through the sky.

In "The Right Stuff," author Tom Wolfe noted that in the early years of fighter jets, more than half of their pilots could expect to be subjected to the spine-rattling ejection from their cockpits. A good many died in accidents.

Flying at the edge of an airplane's limits remains full of risk. An April crash claimed a member of the Blue Angels.

Navy Lt. Cmdr. Kevin Davis was killed when his No. 6 jet went down during the final minutes of a performance in Beaufort, S.C. It was the first Blue Angels fatality since 1999 and one of three since the Blues began flying F/A-18 Hornets.

The Blue Angels regrouped and resumed flying. They've dedicated their season to the memory of Davis, who grew up in Pittsfield, Mass.

Miller, 34, of Lapeer, Mich., joined the team last year after accumulating more than 1,800 flight hours and making nearly 300 carrier landings. His combat experience includes missions as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom.

Next year, he'll become one of the six pilots who perform during air shows. Now, as the No. 7 pilot, Miller serves as narrator during the shows and also takes members of the media and VIPs on the ride of their lives to promote the Navy and Marines.

My flight, he assured me, would be a blast.

That it was, start to finish.

Anxiety and butterflies be damned, I climbed into the cockpit and was strapped in by the crew chief, Staff Sgt. Deo Harrypersaud. Soon enough, the 24,500-pound jet was hurtling down the runway. After reaching about 300 mph, Miller pulled the stick back and the jet shot upward.

Fifteen seconds later, the jet was leveling off at 6,000 feet and I had a panoramic view from the ocean to Maine's western mountains.

So far, so good.

Next, Miller flew 55 miles to a military training area.

After a few mild maneuvers, rolling the plane over, looping it and flying upside down, Miller took it up a notch. At that point I found myself pressed into my seat so firmly that I could barely lift my arm as Miller demonstrated the Immelman turn, a vertical roll and a minimum-radius turn that produced crushing G-forces.

Air show spectators don't realize the physical effort required to fly these jets at their limits. In the cockpit, the pilots are doing sweaty, hard work.

The Blues don't wear G-suits used by other fighter pilots. G-suits, designed to keep pilots from blacking out, would hamper their ability to fly in close formation. So they rely on physical training and flexing their muscles to keep from blacking out.

I tried my best to flex the muscles in my legs, buttocks and abdomen, as instructed.

I don't remember blacking out. I just remember waking up and thinking, Why am I sleeping when I should be paying attention?

As Miller's energetic and reassuring voice filled my ears, vision quickly returned and I woozily pondered my surroundings. No, it was no dream. I was still hurtling through the air at several hundred miles an hour. And now I was feeling nauseous.

We flew for about 45 minutes before Miller decided I'd been through enough, and the F/A-18 touched down on the runway.

After grabbing a bite to eat, the jet jockey was in the sky again.

The desk jockey, meanwhile, went back to work on terra firma.